#rem equating oli to home always does something to me

[revenantlore]

we are wading into the climax of press start

Rem needs to get up. Out of bed. Call Oliver. Or 911. Both. Get his ass out of here finally.

Makes it a few inches down the mattress, legs swinging over the edge, when vertigo swoops over and plunges him back down. Rem pulls his free hand over his eyes to dull the sensation. Breathes through the dizzying swell of nausea and disorientation.

There’s a ringing in the distance.

Two. Three. Four trills.

The phone?

Eyes flying open, Rem makes another attempt at standing.

Pauses when voices join the ringing.

Familiar yet muddled like it’s coming from behind a waterfall.

“Rem’s not able to come to the door. He’s—sick.” Ross’s warbled voice, shaky like he’s nervous.

More sounds Rem can’t quite place, loud and sudden, followed by a string of rough curses.

The bedroom door flies open with a squeak and a burst of light. A gasp and a flurry of hands reaching and grasping towards him, sharp breaths and a fleeting hesitance.

Everything is a haze of color and movement.

Oli’s impossible voice drifting in and out of focus, here and near and also far.

Rem’s muscles ache and strain in protest when he is lifted from the sweat-and-blood-damp mattress. Into someone’s arms.

An adjustment or two and he settles there against a warm chest coated in fabric that smells like home.